We unfortunately ran into an issue the moment we tried to get into the silver dome.
“Why is this door made of solid metal with no features?” I complained into the void, kicking the offending object. The act did nothing.
“Specifically to inconvenience you, Inspector,” Dalsarel said in perfect deadpan. I glared up at her, and she offered me a small smile.
“Next time I’m definitely bringing Ferrisdae,” I sighed.
“Let me know how she does against the next silver man you fight.”
Grunting, I kicked the door again. It didn’t give any more than it had the first time, but the concussive therapy did make me feel a little better. Taking a breath, I walked around the large dome again, making sure not to let anything escape my notice.
It was made of several silver pieces that interlocked perfectly, but never in any straightforward way. Some panels swooped into their neighbors while others had jagged edges. One was even in the perfect shape to replicate a bird in flight, talons out as if to snatch up some unsuspecting prey, though there were no other animals that I could see. The dome was incredibly strange, even if it was a marvel of engineering.
Carr was living up to his title as the Maker. Between this, the Dungeonborn, and possibly Himia, I could see why the Gnomes called him that.
However, I made it all the way around the dome and back to the door where Dalsarel was waiting without seeing anything new. Crossing my arms, I stared at it. “There’s still one thing left to do.”
“Batter it down with that corrosive stick of yours?” she suggested.
I paused before amending my previous statement. “There’s still two things left to do. That is a very Cojisto plan, though.”
Dalsarel shrugged. “Sometimes you just need to brute force things. That’s basically what subjugations are.”
I couldn’t find any fault in her logic there, so I moved on. “The Dungeon Master gave me something moments before he left,” I said, adjusting my jacket. “I haven’t taken it out of my Dimensional Pocket since he put it in for me but, assuming that he knew I’d find this place, I’m sure it’ll be what we need.”
“Then why didn’t we lead with that?” the Dark Elf asked curiously.
“Because I don’t like the Dungeon Master, and I don’t care for his cryptic games,” I replied sourly.
“I see,” Dalsarel said, leaving it at that.
Frowning, I reached into my Dimensional Pocket and started rummaging around. It was a rather spectacular piece of magic. Very few items were too large to go inside despite the limited space on the outside and, no matter how full it was, whatever you were looking for was always on the top. I had a comprehensive mental list of everything inside, so I simply tried to pull out whatever it was I didn’t know about.
It worked, and I stared at the pink frog coaster in my hand. The creature was smiling with its tongue hanging out, and I flipped it over to see the word “daddy” boldly written in capital letters with a heart at the end. There was no mistaking Willow’s handwriting, and I made a note to talk to her about stuffing things in my pockets the next time I saw her.
Strangely enough, the item also grounded me. I firmed myself up, shedding what frustration I could in order to clear my mind and steady my soul. With a small smile at the unexpected interruption, I offered this moment to Cheroske, and she warmly took it.
I glanced at Dalsarel out of the corner of my eye, and she immediately looked away. If she wasn’t going to say anything, then that was fine by me. I returned the frog coaster to my Pocket and tried again.
This time, I removed a much heavier object. It appeared to be some kind of clunky black bracelet. A solid piece of metal connected three bands that seemed to go around an arm, starting wide at the top while the other two became progressively smaller. I stared at it for a moment before scowling.
“I have no idea what to do with this,” I stated.
“Worry not, Inspector. I am already active,” came a woman’s voice from behind us.
My Hilt of Holding was already in my hand by the time I turned around, and Dalsarel had her sword in a tight grip though she didn’t draw it yet. I stopped when I saw who had joined us. Blue hair, yellow sundress, and an empty smile on her face.
“Himia,” I greeted, returning my weapon to my belt. “You know better than to sneak up on us.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience,” she stated in the same monotone as always. “There is no easy way to appear that would not put you on edge.”
“In front of us? So we don’t think someone is stalking us?”
Himia paused. “I will remember this for the future.”
I scowled and looked down at the weird device. “What are you even doing here?”
“The Dungeon Master, Master of Dungeons, knew that you would need my assistance eventually. It is dangerous for me to be here considering that CC will stop at nothing to get her hands on me, but he knew you would be able to protect me during any worst case scenario.”
“Is that why you didn’t show yourself earlier? You were hiding from CC?” I asked when I turned back to her.
“I did not show myself earlier because I couldn’t,” she answered, pointing at the device in my hand. “I have only just now regained consciousness when I returned to an area full of mana. Before that, I was in your Dimensional Pocket.”
Arching an eyebrow, I looked from her to the bracelet in my hand. “This is you?” I asked, holding it up.
“That is correct,” Himia answered with a nod. “This form is one that I take when casting my consciousness to where it needs to go, but the core of my being resides in that casing you now hold.”
“In a bracelet?” I asked incredulously. “Why?”
“It is not a bracelet,” she denied with a shake of her head. “That is designed to go onto the back of a Human’s neck. From there, it burrows slightly into the skin, attaching itself to the cervical spine, the uppermost part of the spinal column. Once that process is complete, I can provide a suite of support from interacting with and guiding mana, protecting the body, providing information and insight, and more.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“That sounds horrifying,” Dalsarel stated, subconsciously touching the back of her neck. I had to agree. “You attach yourself to the spine after burrowing through flesh?”
“I have been assured that the process only stings for 0.34 seconds,” Himia claimed. “After that, I am unnoticeable.”
“That seems very unlikely,” I said, grimacing at the thought of it.
The Information Elemental looked down at me. “I am the Human-Magic Interface Apparatus, but Halflings are close enough that I would be able to work with you just—”
“No,” I immediately and vehemently denied, holding up both hands. A part of me almost threw the device on the ground. “No, no, no. I am not attaching you to any part of my body, especially not my spine!”
“Are you sure, Inspector?” she asked, tilting her head. “I am capable of providing—”
“I don’t care what you’re providing, you’re not doing it,” I interrupted.
Himia paused, as if processing this information. “It will help with the subjugation of CC.”
“You’re not—” I cut myself off with a grunt. As much as I hated to admit it, there might be a very real scenario where I may need her help. I never would have considered that if I was still frustrated from earlier. “No promises. We’ll see what we need in the moment, and that’s the best you’re getting out of me.”
“I understand, Inspector,” Himia replied with a nod. “Until then, my casing can either be held or placed on a magical item. Preferably one with more magical energy than the area we find ourselves in, so that I can be of greater use to you.”
“I could just stick you back in my Dimensional Pocket,” I muttered.
“That is certainly an option,” she confirmed. “However, I will be of greater use to you if I am available to warn you of things that are going on. If you would prefer, I can stay silent until needed.”
“There is that sword you pulled from the stone,” Dalsarel reminded me.
I pursed my lips and sighed. Reaching into my Pocket again, I pulled the yellow magic crystal out. “Will this do?”
“Ah, so you have already defeated Queen Mosquito and obtained the Golden Sword. Excellent work.”
“I thought her name was Queen Moss Keto,” Dalsarel interjected, confused. “Also, it’s yellow, not gold”
“Perhaps that is what she is called in this day and age. I will update my records to the current vernacular. Thank you for bringing my attention to this matter,” Himia stated before gesturing at the sword. “To answer your question, yes. This magical sword will do phenomenally. Simply line up the wider part of the HMIA to the crossguard with the more narrow part towards the pommel, and I will take care of the rest.”
With only some reluctance, I started doing as she told me to do. I had just touched one to the other when what she said hit me. “Wait, the HMIA? Is that where you get the name Himia from?”
“That is correct,” the Information Elemental said as she closed her eyes.
The device clamped down on the hilt of the magical crystal sword and the whole thing started changing size. It scaled down from a one-handed weapon for larger creatures, which I would have had to wield in two, into one that was perfect for me. Black particles were injected inside, traveling throughout its length to create diamond patterns all the way up the blade, making its original yellow color sparse. Finally, the two lower clamps of the HMIA opened up, acting as the same kind of basket guard I was used to on my Hilt of Holding.
“Integration complete,” Himia announced. “I am now operating at 60% efficiency, and can transfer some of that power to you upon being wielded.”
“Great,” I muttered as I retrieved a reinforced leather and metal loop from my Pocket. I took a moment to attach it to my belt before sliding the crystalline sword through it. The edges seemed to dull as it went in. “Are you doing that?”
“Yes,” she answered. “If I did not, then it would have sliced through your loop. This way, you won’t have to worry about cutting anything, and I will sharpen it again when you retrieve the sword to use it.”
“I likely won't. I still have my Hilt of Holding.”
“Of course, Inspector.”
Looking up at the Information Elemental, I frowned. She glanced down at me with that pleasant, her blank smile still on her face. I broke first, sighing as I shook my head and gestured towards the silver dome’s door.
“Now that all that nonsense is out of the way, what can you tell us about this?” I asked.
“This is the final, and smallest, home that Keith Carr created for himself,” Himia stated, turning to glance at the building. “It is known as the Logan Dome, and it requires a spoken password to open.”
“And would you happen to know what the pass phrase is?” I urged.
“Of course.”
I paused, waiting patiently as she looked back at me. It took me longer than I wanted to admit when I realized she wasn’t going to say it on her own. “Are you going to tell us what it is?”
“I can do that,” she agreed easily. “The pass phrase is, ‘Sir Hikes-A-Lot.’”
“‘Sir Hikes-A-Lot'?” I repeated incredulously, sharing a confused glance with Dalsarel. “What is tha—”
A loud, hissing noise caught my attention and I turned to see white mist erupting from the edges of the door. We both stepped back, hands on our weapons once more, while it slid backwards and to the side. The short hallway leading into the dome was dark, but a series of overhead lights flickered on one by one until we could see deep inside.
“I assure you, it is completely safe,” Himia said. She moved to stand next to the door and gestured us inside.
The hair on the back of my neck was raised from the feeling I was getting inside the dome, but it was the entire reason why we were here. Keeping my Hilt of Holding in hand, I motioned for Dalsarel to follow me and started walking inside.
Out of everything, the smell hit me first. It was the stench of cleanliness that could only be borne of chemicals rather than magic, like something at a hospital rather than a church. Glass panels, untouched by the environment’s dust and dirt, lined the short hallway and reflected our determined faces.
I couldn’t see Himia following us when I used them to glance backwards, but when I turned fully and got eyes on her directly I could see her behind Dalsarel, hands folded over her stomach as she looked around. If I hadn’t known any better, then I’d say the expression on her face was one of nostalgia.
We entered the main room of the dome to find that half of it contained a series of sterile workshops with various objects and tools on them. The items ranged from belts to boots to a large, bronze chicken made of bronze metal and gears. My gaze lingered on that for a second longer than I needed to as I wondered if it, too, had some kind of time shenanigans going on.
There was a flower pot with several red strings coming out of it. They disappeared into the ceiling. Even though I knew I didn't see them outside, I was fairly certain those were the connection points Elder Thrash was talking about. I made a note of it, but continued checking for any hidden dangers.
That side of the room held my interest for a moment, but the other half was almost completely missing. While the dome was still intact, the floor and several other workshops were gone, leaving a perfect sphere of emptiness behind. I could see the remains of a bed, the quarter of it left messily made, and a desk that had tipped over when the legs were taken from it.
“What happened here?” I asked, moving closer to the hemisphere missing from the floor.
“Welcome to the Logan Dome,” a man’s voice greeted from the side, and Dalsarel and I jerked that way.
The only rendition I had seen of Keith Carr had been in the Dungeon Master’s story dungeon, which he had taken over from Raitheus Razorbeak. It had depicted him as a regular middle-aged Human in spectacles and a crumpled suit. He had been rotund enough for it to be noticeable, and he had a lecherous gaze.
Clearly, the Dungeon Master had been working through something when he remade his father’s image. He had even admitted it himself.
This was the polar opposite of what I had seen in that dungeon. Keith Carr wasn’t what I would call handsome, but he had a confident air around him. His brown eyes were steel, but I could see the weariness in them. He had clearly seen a lot in his time, things he hadn’t quite come to terms with. Those were the same eyes I’d seen on old adventurers and paladins who had been everywhere and done everything.
The look of a soldier who had survived a terrible war, but hadn’t quite been able to leave it behind.
He adjusted his white suit and black tie, both of which were old styles that I recognized from Gnomish culture, and smiled. “Welcome, heroes, friends, family, or whomever you are,” the man said, leaning against one of the workshops. “I’m Keith Carr. Please, make yourself comfortable. While you’re guests of mine, you don’t have to worry about a thing.”
